The Dragon, The Girl, And The Enigmatic Sociopath
by Hiddlesybatched
Summary: Tumblr prompt, smauglock/Sherlolly/University AU. Molly meets Smaug when very young and they are great friends, but then she meets the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes and that dynamic changes. Oh Smaug, you jealous boy. Warning, kinda gross in the first chapter, but I am not planning on killing any main characters off. This time. Read and review my lovelies!
1. The Dreadful Beginning

Prompt: as a little girl Molly finds a baby dragon named Smaug and raises it, the pair become inseparable as they grow up but Smaug becomes jealous when Molly falls for a boy in her college called Sherlock... AU Smauglock/university

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><p>So I have a funny feeling that Smaug is going to be slightly OOC. And Sherlock to a degree.<p>

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><p>Wind blew leaves around the little forest lane as the mother and daughter clambered through a small kissing-gate, the little girl turning her pink flushed cheek to her mother to receive her kiss payment.<p>

Giggling, she ran on ahead as the wind blew her messy pigtails across her face, kicking up the leaves as she went. Her mother hurried after her, looking around the autumnal forest furtively, as though she was afraid that someone or something was going to leap out at them.

"Molly, please be a little more quiet! You don't want to disturb the dwarves, do you?" The little girl paused and shook her head solemnly, stopping where she was to wait for her mother. Clasping the girl's hand safely in hers, they carried on, moving hurriedly as the wind seemed to become even more ferocious. Every once in a while her mother would look up at the sky nervously, despite being unable to see anything beyond the swaying tree tops. The little girl began to sing to herself quietly, one of her favourite songs from a Disney song until her mother sharply ordered her to stop.

She began to cry, loudly and without pause for breath or so it seemed, as all natural background noise ceased in the forest. Her mother picked her up and ran down the path, uncaring about the brambles catching on her stockings and ripping into her skin.

A terrible roar split the air as the trees seemed to part behind them. Not pausing to stop, her mother threw a glance back over her shoulder in time to see a colossal reptilian paw come down on top of them, crushing them both beneath its weight.

She felt one of the long claws crushing against her chest, breaking her ribs beneath the sheer weight of it. Using the last of her breath, she ordered Molly to be silent, as the claws closed around them, lifting them both into the air as the dragon flew back to its cave.

The darkness of the cave added to the infant's fear as she clutched her mother's warm body close to her, making hardly a sound. Falling roughly to the ground, she peeked out as the dragon's deep voice rumbled threateningly through the cave.

"Sweet human, tasty human, make my child grow strong…."

Shuffling back into the shadows, she watched as the dragon lifted her mother over to where a small - by dragon standards – nest lay by a fire. A small, beautiful, red-gold reptilian head lifted into the air as the body came near, sniffing enthusiastically. The adult dragon, once she looked at it, seemed thin and frail, as though it hadn't eaten in years. It looked like one small hit to the head would kill it.

"Smaug, my child, I'll be back. I promise to not be long…"

The dragon shuffled back out, unravelling her bat like wings as she took off out of the mouth of the cave and sailing into the air gracefully. Molly edged out from behind the rock, hoping to escape the way she came.

Coming to the mouth of the cave, she stopped dead, eyes widening as she took in the sight before her. A blanket of cloud covered the valley, hiding all landmarks from sight. It seemed to shift and move, snake like, as she watched, faint wisps detaching and coiling back into the mass, the faint orange of the setting sun bathing the clouds in fire. The drop was sheer, no way to work out the height of the cave on the mountain, though the way the clouds coiled made it seem as though she could simply step out and be perfectly safe on the soft bed of molten gold. She huddled into herself, the cool wind tearing through her thin dress, stumbling backwards into the relative warmth of the cavern.

She heard a soft tearing sound and looked to see the baby dragon – Smaug – nosing around in her mother's stomach, blood marring his beautiful golden snout. Tears filled her eyes as she gasped out a strangled _Mama_ before collapsing onto the unforgiving floor sobbing.

"Ma..Ma?" The young dragon stopped what he was doing, his bright yellow eyes glowing in the light of the setting sun and the glow of the fire as they lit upon the small thing screaming on the floor. He rose unsteadily on shaking legs, wobbling over to her, a piece of flesh held as an offering in his mouth. Dropping it beside her, he nudged her with his nose, smearing blood across the girl's dress.

She froze when his snout made contact, eye to eye before emitting an ear splitting scream and scrambling away quickly.

"Don't… Be…. Sssssssscared. _I_ will not… hurt… you. My… Mama… Will. You musssst _Hide." _His voice hissed out, echoing around the cavern, the light from the fire sending slivers of light reflecting off otherwise hidden mounds of gold. Eyes fixed on the young dragon, she shuffled over to the fire and hunched over it, almost burning herself in her quest for warmth.

Her mother's body lay less than a foot away from her.

Smaug snuffled over to her, seeking the warmth and companionship, even though she was so very small and weak.

_Dragons cannot like humans. Dragons cannot befriend any creature. _

_But she is so small. She cannot hurt me. _

Her quiet sobs grew louder, echoing plaintively around the large cavern as the smell of blood intensified in the rising warmth. The acrid smell of death and smoke mingled in the stale night time air, the stench of decay from other unlucky, hapless meals littered in far flung corners out of sight.

Hours passed, Molly's exhausted form curled into the baby dragon's warm side as he continued to eat her mother, the dark sky slowly lightening to a pale pink, gold streaks swept across the clouds.

His mother had not returned by the next day either. Her mother had been completely eaten, and she was afraid he would eat her next. Her daddy was dead, her mama gone, no one would miss her. Smaugie would live.

She resigned herself to death.

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><p>So, I know, I know, Smaug would have just eaten her, or burned her to a crisp, but it's my AU and I will make him a grumpy, temperamental little shit who is very protective of his little human.<p> 


	2. A Mysterious Love Of Learning

Bit of a time jump, we're looking back on what has happened until she is about thirteen and in school. Yay!

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><p>She lost track of time over the next eight years. Of only three things was she absolutely certain; she was a good hunter and gatherer, Smaug was a better hunter than her, and their mothers were never going to come back.<p>

The first few months had passed pleasantly, though she had been constantly aware of the dragon's nature and had always sought to find meat for him. After watching him eat the last bits of her mother, she had refused to eat meat. She had spent the first months foraging, using what little her mother had managed to tell her about edible fruits, nuts, fungi and roots, and Smaug had quite happily torched any poor squirrel who had come looking for shelter in their cave.

Then winter had come, bringing new hardships. She had resorted to stealing from nearby villages, quite proficiently, until she had been caught by a blacksmith who had threatened to skin her the next time he saw her. She hadn't been able to return to Smaug, so he had... Panicked. Catching her scent, he had rampaged through the village searching for her, setting houses alight until he had found her, huddled in a freezing cell in the village gaol, and had brought her back to the cave.

Word had spread quickly, lynching parties had been sent off, each returning a little singed but all in one piece.

And then the snowstorms hit.

The entire countryside had been coated in thick, pure white snow, the roads in and out blocked and people began to die from the cold, that seemed to seep into their very bones. All except for the little girl with bare feet who ran around the village at night, taking food where available and leaving blankets in her wake.

Smaug came with her a few times at first, tentatively sticking his vast nose out to test the air, then gambolling after her like an oversized Labrador, melting the snow with his firey breath and red hot scales. The villagers had watched in fearful awe as they watched her command the colossal beast with ease, melting the snow for them twice a day.

They began to leave the little girl food in return, and then books and paper and pens, for they heard her sometimes, on wet days, sunny days, on days where the hills were hushed with the peaceful silence that accompanies fresh snow and the only sound was the girl's gentle voice telling the beast fantastical stories about far off places, mountains of gold and treasures untold, all awaiting them just around the mountain top.

She taught herself to read, and devoured the books left to her, on maths, English, poetry, even physics and chemistry. She loved the science text books, and would dissect and animals Smaug caught and hadn't gotten around to flaming yet, observing their intestines and little hearts, taking their brains and slicing into them, fascinated at their workings.

Simple things got past her though, like addition and subtraction, writing proved to be much harder than reading the words, and she absolutely hated the smell of blood.

She had gone home a few times, to take what little food was left and clothes of hers and her mothers', and had given away her father's clothes long ago. Ever practical, she had realised that she was going to grow; having watched how very swiftly Smaug did, she knew it would happen to her too. She had noticed how different she was to motherly figures, so rationalised that she too would change to have hips, and breasts, so had saved some of her mother's slimmer tops, trousers and skirts. She didn't know when she'd need them, but she knew she would.

As the years went on, her hair had grown long and wild, clothes tattered and worn, but always clean, thanks to her mother's voice in her head constantly ordering her to pull her socks up and straighten her skirt, and make sure they were clean.

The most remarkable things were, however, her eyes, which seemed to glow like Smaug's, though darker and lit from within as though a fire burned at the bottom of a long, dark tunnel and the light was only just surfacing.

She liked her look.

Wild and untamed, the children of the villages had been warned away from her, but when she was reading aloud, leaning back against the scales of the dragon that should have burned her beyond recognition, she seemed harmless and peaceful and the children wanted to play with her.

It was the dragon that put them off. Fairy tale dragons are all well and good, but having one that had created such damage in so little time, in living memory no less, they head learnt to respect the beast, treating him with reverence and always searched for the strange little girl with glowing eyes, muddy feet and soft, strangely carrying voice.

She had so much power over the dragon, yet she didn't understand it. He was her only friend, even if he had eaten her mama. If anything, that had made them closer. She knew what he could do, and also what he wouldn't. All she had to do was bring home cabbage every night for a week and he'd be as gentle as a kitten and as apologetic as a spaniel.

However, all good things had come to an end and their combined attempts hadn't dissuaded the local schools from trying to make her attend. Smaug had burned one of them down several times, yet still they persisted. The other had had Molly come in and vandalise the whole place using paint made from berries, mashed bone and animal blood, which hadn't deterred them either.

They had sent groups of children her age to the cave, which had just made them scared of her. They had sent the working men, which had also made them scared of her.

None of them would say what she had done.

But the villagers stopped leaving her books, locking the library doors, sealing every house with access to books as yet unread by the fiery nymph.

Smaug hadn't cared. All he wanted was food and stories and he didn't care if she told him the same ones over and over.

Then they stopped giving out food.

Smaug persuaded her to try school, at least for a day.

So began a new chapter in the hellion's life, solitary still, but choosing to be alone, staying silent and deliberately stuttering and appearing shy and revealing her inner dragon whenever some injustice arose.

Clever and unassuming, the teachers adored her, never calling upon her unless she volunteered the information, which was frequently of a far higher standard than was expected. And still the little issues, such as spelling and pronunciation, continued to plague her. No matter how she tried, she couldn't seem to grasp the "I before E" rule, arguing vehemently that only around forty English words used the silly rule, and there were numerous words that had the "E" before the "I".

She was an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, crammed into an undersized over bright youngster. They didn't know whether to send her to the city to learn how to survive there, and hopefully get the attention she needed, or stay and be pushed up several years, so that she could learn with students closer to her intelligence, but suffer from lack of appropriate social interaction. Either way, she was bound to suffer.

Besides, going to the city was out of the question. She refused to leave the dragon, and all of the villages in a twenty mile radius couldn't bear to think about the consequences of her leaving the monstrous beast alone for weeks at a time.

It had been bad enough with it's mother. He was growing to be a size at least twice as big as she had been, and thrice as volatile. Without the the gently authoritative girl there to keep him in line, they'd all be dead within a week.

School changed Molly. She was still adventurous, with an almost comical desire to learn and explore, but she had learn to control it and keep it hidden. A master of situations, she had seen how the older children ridiculed the younger, more academic students and had thus learn to keep to herself, but did not let them bully her. She could hold her own in both a verbal spar and a physical one, at least once a month having to be hauled, kicking and screaming, off an unwitting victim, usually some child whom she had observed bullying another child regularly.

Strangely enough, she was never bullied.

However, she could see that Smaug was becoming both restless and more agitated, listening to her less and less as his strength grew. She had had to speak to him sharply on occasion, and he had threatened her physically, reminding her of his power and what his kind do to humans who overstep their boundaries.

She always reminded him of who had kept him alive during those months when he was too young and weak to hunt alone.

Yet despite what would appear to be rifts forming between the two, they would defend each other to the death if needs be. Especially Smaug. On numerous occasions he had left the cave purely to defend his odd little human, who had saved him despite his barbaric and irritable nature.

Even he could see she was unique among humans, who so often killed or feared the unknown, and hated his kind on sight. She had been afraid, yes, but for a very good reason. But she had gotten past that swiftly, had trusted him with her life countless times and had seen past his bravado into the scared baby he had been so many years ago.

That was why they would always be friends, family, even.

They were all they had left in the world.

He would kill before he let anyone take her away from him.

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><p>So hey! How was that? I think I'm going to go down the intervening years, where she is advancing intellectually and emotionally, whilst keeping the core of Molly's kindness and compassion there (the fighting is kinda like Molly in S3. I imagine her to be such a wildcat in her younger years!). And then, Sherlock will explode into her life, driving her into the shy, stammering, withdrawn Molly we see in the series. Sound good? I hope so, cause that's the way it's going! ILY all.<p> 


	3. An Unexpected Meeting

"It's official. I hate school!"

Molly lay on the cold floor of the cave, the cool stone seeping pleasantly through her thin, yellow summer dress, that had long ago belonged to her mother. The sun streamed in through the mouth of the cave, illuminating the various piles of money and assorted nick-knacks that littered the space.

Tiny dust motes swirled in ever changing circles around her head, shining momentarily in the sunlight before winking out of sight again.

Her face was scrunched into a petulant pout as she frowned in Smaug's general direction.

"Are you even listening to me? Gods, Smaug, you're a terrible listener. If I go hunting tonight, find us a nice boar, will you listen to me?"

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, long brown hair slipping gently over her shoulders, tugged softly by the wind and gravity as she turned to face him.

He was asleep.

"Stupid bloody dragon, ignoring me.." She stood up, dusting down her dress and stretching languorously, cat-like in the sunlight. Making her way to the mouth of the cave, she pulled a worn handbag out from behind a rock, noiselessly scooped some gold into it and scampered down the mountain towards the nearer of the two nearby villages.

"All they do is ask me silly questions, and even then they don't tell me _why_ I'm wrong, if I am. Is it so bad to _want_ to be _helped _ instead of being constantly _ridiculed_ and _ostracised_ for being me? Gods above, I cannot **TAKE IT ANYMORE!" **She huffed out a melodramatic sigh, throwing her hands up in the air and letting them flop down beside her.

"And Jim has been bothering me again, I just want that big bag of scales and fire to sort him out for once and for all. Is it really that much to ask...?"

She sighed again, long and loud.

It had been building inside her for a while, growing in pressure over the weeks since the Easter break.

She hated Easter.

And Christmas.

Religion in general baffled her. A mighty God that created every creature and then forsook them, banished to live in a world full of boring lessons and dragons that didn't listen to her, and made children live in caves without their mothers? It just didn't seem right.

_And_ they said some saint or other had killed the last dragon centuries ago.

So she didn't believe a word written in that book old book of half truths and assumptions.

"...And they say _I _make up ridiculous stories! A dragon stealing a mountain from a load of dwarves is much more likely than a bush that didn't burn even though it was clearly on fire, or parting the seas, or making a river run blood. At least they know dragons _exist!_"

She continued grumbling until she came to a stop at the very bottom of the mountain, enveloped by a thick, almost tangible mist.

"H-Hello?" She called out nervously, though she knew that all she had to do was scream and Smaug would come to her rescue.

Stupid dragon.

"Please, is anyone there? I seem to be lost in the fog, and I can't find my way home..."

She glanced around her, sensing figures in the blinding mist that was so bright, yet so very thick that nothing could be seen clearly.

Reaching almost noiselessly into the bag, she pulled out a wicked looking blade and grasped it firmly in her right had, whilst curling in on herself to ensure she appeared as small and weak as possible.

The element of surprise was on her side, after all.

"P-please? Help me, I'm lost!"

There!

Movement to her left. Turning her head imperceptibly, she observed the bulky figure of a large man shift through the swirling fog towards her.

To her right, three more circled closer.

Five, in total, then.

Oh yes, there was the fifth, that had been staying out of reach in front of her. They'd been preying on the area for weeks now, and this was the first time she had come face to face with them. She smiled slightly.

A gang of sorts, roaming the countryside in search of the rich or the greedy, they had finally heard tales of the mountain, which she herself had cultivated, stuffed full of riches beyond belief and anyone's for the taking. Quite the treasure trove, or so she had put about.

She had deliberately left out the part about the Fire drake.

"So, little girly. Out all alone on a horrid day like this? You'll get your pretty dress all wet..."

Lascivious hands ran over her damp form, tugging at her skirt.

She squeaked indignantly, hoping it sounded enough like fear to pass muster. _Really..._

"You must be.. terrified, my pretty.." The man who had been to her left hissed in her ear as he passed, circling around her.

She reached back into her bag slowly, drawing out a longer knife and moving into a vaguely defensive stance, whilst still maintaining her cowed posture.

"Little girly, what's your name?"

She swallowed, audibly.

"Rosabelle..."

"What was that, girly?"

His grimy hand tilted her face up towards his, the fog obscuring his features from her.

She sucked in a breath through her mouth, almost gagging over the smell of unwashed man, mixed with the unmistakable scent of death that clung to the men like the fog that surrounded them.

"Rosabelle, sir. Please, do you know the best way out of here?" She had read in a book about the old European names, and she had been fascinated by the German meanings for many of the seemingly ordinary and common ones found in the area. Rosabelle, she decided, seemed harmless, but as it meant noted protector, it should give them enough of a warning.

Well, she knew they were going to underestimate her anyway.

The man in front of her sidled forwards, used, as she was, to the fog and the sense of disorientation it gave most travellers caught within its wet tendrils.

A finger of unease slithered down her spine as she took in the man's stature and build. He seemed to be quite young...

A rich boy turned highway robber?

How curious.

She strained her ears for any sound of her dragon, hoping against hope the fog hadn't removed all traces of her whereabouts.

Silence reigned in the group.

"Most of the time they're pleading by now, kid. Think we should let 'er go?" One of the men that had been at her right materialised in front of her, facing their leader.

"No, she might be useful. Besides, I'm bored."

The leader's voice cut through her, freezing her in place. She felt like he was talking to her, reaching deep within her soul to pull at parts of it her mother had warned her of.

She blushed slightly and tensed, sure they would see her revelation on her face.

Glancing up, she saw the leader and the man deep in conversation.

"I'm, uh, sorry. I'm pretty sure I can get home..."

"Rosabelle, was it? Well, I think we need a chat." She froze momentarily, eyes locked on his shape, heart beating erratically. This had suddenly stopped being fun.

"No, really, my uh, dragon will be missing me..." She attempted to dodge them, aiming for the weakest point in their circle. A large meaty arm stopped her passage.

She panicked, swinging the knife still clutched in her right hand in a perfect arc, slicing into the man's arm, the hot red drops splattering over her face and torso.

_That's my last nice dress ruined. Bloody hell. _

His shocked yell alerted the rest of them to her weapons, as she ducked and sprinted up the hill, shouting for Smaug as she went.

She could hear them behind her, moving with surprising speed and agility as she wove around the trees she had spent her entire life mapping unconsciously.

A hand barely avoided grasping the hem of her dress, Molly letting out a squeak of surprise as her balance almost failed her momentarily.

Shouting echoed around the mountain, fro either side of her. It sounded like they were trying to shepherd her into one area, their voices getting nearer as she began to call for Smaug again.

She hit a large, unexpected tree root and went flailing, knees hitting the ground hard and her wrist letting out a frighteningly loud snap.

"Argh. Ugh. No.." She gritted her teeth determinedly, one knife still grasped firmly in the unbroken hand. Their faces emerged from the mist as it began to lift, as though being blown from above.

She smiled unexpectedly, a sly, cunning smile surprisingly fitting with her bedraggled, blood spattered appearance.

She didn't recognise any of them, from what she could see; most of their faces were obscured by large beards, and the leader had his back to her.

He didn't look old though.

Maybe only a little older than her.

_Huh._

They looked around them in confusion as the wind continued to pick up and Molly began to laugh outright at their expressions and in relief.

"Smaug, you great lump, took you long enough!"

She jumped slightly, just enough for the large reptilian claw that swept down from the overhanging clouds to grasp her firmly, peeking out over Smaug's paw to smirk at them.

She mad eye contact with the leader.

_I knew it!_

Excited blue-green eyes met her fierce brown ones, committing her to memory as she savoured this victory over a tall fourteen year old boy.

Their laughter rang out over the valley, hers elated and pain filled, his ecstatic and happy, that something so improbable fell quite literally from the sky, relieving him of his usual chronic boredom.

She never could quite remove his inquisitive eyes from her memory.

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><p>Whoo! Yeah, so I've become terrible at updating, I'm so sorry. Still, I trust this makes up for it?<p> 


	4. Life Goes On

Woah I actually like this story, though I am so sorry for any confusion last chapter. Sherlock is not a rapist, hello, he's fourteen and only in search of adventure and a way out of boredom. Thus, he is rampaging throughout the countryside hoping to find something better than homework to distract him, whilst doing as he is told and giving up on the pirate dream. So yeah. Sherlock is a good kid, Molly's virtue is unimpugned, and all is well, except for the wandering band of pillagers who would have no doubt loved to rape and murder little Molly. But they won't.

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><p>Molly winced as the doctor applied pressure to her wrist.<p>

"Really, it's not that bad. I'd have fixed it myself, if it hadn't been my right wrist." _And if Smaug hadn't been such a dunderhead, bringing me here instead of back home._

The doctor - Stamford - stared at her, making her shift uneasily.

"You know full well that your wrist is broken, Molly. Thank god that dragon of yours realised how useless you'd be with one wrist and brought you here, otherwise you may well have _lost it._ Are.. Are you even listening to me?"

"OW!" She pulled her hand away swiftly, jarring the broken bones as she did so. She scowled at the older man, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

He tensed slightly.

Internally, she grinned at the small victory.

"Molly, I need to set it. That means plaster, elevation, NO USE FOR AT LEAST SIX WEEKS and don't even think about going hunting or climbing trees. Let Smaug do it, or better yet! Move into your old home for a while." He looked at her sadly, as a mask of detachment fell across her features.

"That cottage stopped being 'home' the day my mother was killed and daddy committed suicide. If he hadn't been so much of a coward, leaving me in the care of a _dragon- _No offence, Smaug- then maybe I would have considered it. There is nothing left for me there."

She glared at the grimy floor, disgusted with both herself for revealing so much and with this man for keeping his surgery in such poor condition. If _she_ was a doctor, of any kind, she would never let her work space get to be so filthy.

His irritating voice cut through her thoughts once again, making her scowl up at him through her thick lashes.

"Fine, just let me get the plaster dry before you run off. And don't forget, miss. If you use it when it's not meant to be used? You'll be without use of it for a lot longer."

She rolled her eyes and places her arm gingerly back into his large hands.

The reminded her of the butcher's, from the village on the other side of the mountain. Large, scarred and ugly, not meant for caring for tender flesh, but for tearing open. Of course, she could see that both require a degree of precision and finesse. She just did not feel safe in this man's hands. _The amount of scars is terrifying enough. He had better not have gained those doing surgery._

A violent shudder racked its way through her at the thought of being at this man's mercy on an operating table, gruesome images of her being strapped to a table, writhing in agony as he tore carelessly through her delicate stomach muscles, blood coating his hands and the stark white lab coat he wore fluttering through her mind, making her want to vomit.

Her focus was blissfully ripped from the unpleasant images by a ruckus from outside.

"Look, I'm telling you, there is some sort of demon running around out there, wielding knives and summoning dragons. Look at what it did to Greg! The worst thing is it looks so innocent and then-"

The man's rough voice was shut off suddenly as Doctor Stamford slammed the door shut, peering over his glasses at her, analysing her dishevelled appearance.

"So you fell out of a tree, did you?"

She stared fixedly at a spot -_no, stain. A blood stain- _on her dress, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze.

His large hand landed either side of her face as he leaned towards her, caging her in as he probed her eyes for truth.

"I was careless. I... went into the fog, forgot about the bandits. Well, forgot how many there are. Next thing I knew, I was surrounded, this one guy was running his hands up and down my skirt and I panicked! Their leader was saying how they might have a use for me, and how he was bored... I thought they meant to..." She trailed off, allowing the full horror of what she had nearly went through show on her face.

He leaned back slightly.

"I always bring a weapon with me, it's not safe to be out in the fog without one. I had two in my bag, grabbed them when I first realised there were people other than me in the fog and slashed as widely as I could when they stopped me from leaving. I didn't kill anyone, I swear! The most any of them will need is twelve stitches, in an arm. Anything else was done by them." She chanced looking up at him.

He looked horrified. Pushing her arm back towards him, she asked to get it over with. Silence reigned throughout the practice, the man having been sedated do have a nasty gash in his arm stitched closed.

Twelve stitches had been required.

Tucking her finally well plastered and thoroughly immobilised arm into a sling Stamford gave her, she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, settled herself into a non threatening demeanour and pushed open the door to the reception of the surgery.

Icy blue, excessively bored eyes bored into her own, alighting with interest as they took in her blood stained dress, broken arm and wild eyes. He half rose out of his seat, hair falling into his eyes as she went past, head bowed, calling softly for Smaug. Turning as she left, she met his eyes again briefly, cursing herself even as she committed his strong cheekbones, high brow, long aristocratic nose and pale complexion to memory.

She already knew that she could never forget his eyes.

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><p>She shivered, rubbing her free arm against her leg as the cool spring evening drew to a close and night began its reign of frozen terror upon them, sending icy crystals of frost crystallising across window panes and across puddles.<p>

Smaug's colossal head shifted slightly as she drew near, a loud, threatening growl rumbling from his throat.

"Smaug, you great lout, can we go home please?"

One amber eye lazily opened, narrowing on her small frame, almost assessing her. He breathed a warm sigh, blasting her with pleasantly warm air as she climbed up his snout to sit on the top of his warm head.

She hated flying. The unsteady motion made her feel sick, and the way his head would swoop up and down jerkily set her teeth on edge. However, in occasions like this, it couldn't be helped, and she was glad of his taking the strain off her.

She gazed, unseeing, at the constellations above her, that almost seemed close enough for her to reach out and touch, their bright pinpricks of light so much clearer up here than in the villages below. Beautiful as they were, she could not appreciate their beauty, as she was plagued by the image of two impossibly bright eyes, as changable as the skies above her, intelligent and _knowing_.

He had recognised her, she was sure.

What she wasn't sure of was how exactly she was going to avoid ever seeing him again, short of never leaving the cave. That was entirely unrealistic, seeing as no-one would come within three hundred metres of it, and there was no other way to get food. _Stupid dragon._

She ran a hand through her fringe, untangling the knots forming there due to the wind. Considering her options, she would just have to hope that she would never see him again and all would be well.

The sound of Smaug's large claws striking stone drew her from her troubled thoughts, anticipation of a warm meal overriding any lingering worries as her stomach rumbled loudly.

The fire in the centre glowed dimly in the darkness that surrounded them like a blanket, smothering any light the stars had provided. The cool stone floor send goosebumps cascading up her legs and arms and she hurried over to the fire, grabbing a warm jumper as she went. The remains of a chicken lay wrapped in metal in the embers, kept warm for her. She smiled in Smaug's general direction, thankful for him yet again.

Gathering her school books, she set about her homework, pausing only to tear strips off the chicken and find water.

She hadn't intended to fall asleep there, and only realised she had when she awoke the next morning in the comforting embrace of her dragon, with bright, happy sunlight streaming in through the mouth of the cave.

She felt like she was walking on eggshells for weeks, snapping at people unnecessarily and getting defensive over her arm. Thankfully, summer seemed to be coming properly for the first time in years, so people were more forgiving than they had been.

At long last, the day came for the cast to be removed. Stamford glared at her unsympathetically as she giggled as he drew the razor down the cast, the sensation ticklish as it vibrated along her sensitive arm.

Feeling the cool air on her arm after having it secured away for so long felt like heaven as she stared down at the uncovered flesh. Large flakes of skin covered it, which she found disturbingly fascinating.

_Huh. How interesting._

"Now, if it still hurts, come back and we'll put a new cast on and it should then be fine. Does it hurt now?"

She shook her head, prodding the previously broken bones gingerly.

Even if they had hurt she wouldn't have told him.

* * *

><p>Months and years passed with her never letting down her guard, scanning every new face she met for the prominent cheekbones, glacial eyes and dark curls. She surpassed the rest of the village children in her exams, taking them two years before the rest of her year group and passing them with flying colours. In this time, there had been an increase of murders in the county and she had discovered a morbid curiosity that had long simmered beneath the surface of her now calm exterior, ever since the death of her mother.<p>

She wanted to help people discover the cause of their loved ones' deaths.

Upon graduation from 6th form, aged just sixteen, she decided to take a gap year, touring New Zealand, seeing the places so many of her and Smaug's stories had centred around, all the while surreptitiously searching for lost treasures.

She never found any, and Smaug would have told her if there was any to be had. Her time there had largely been spent learning, how best to fit in with people without being confrontational, learning card games and solving murders, of all things.

Without a doubt, she had loved it there, as had her Dragon. Of course, there had been a number of incidents where the dragon had been a nuisance and set some houses on fire, and she had felt like a child again.

It was astonishing how very accepting people there had been of him. Almost as though they were _used_ to having 26 foot dragons living in and amongst their communities for a year.

She'd changed her name slightly whilst there, too. With her sun-bleached hair and surprisingly boyish figure, she was suddenly Mandy. She didn't seriously think she'd keep it once she left, once her hair returned to its mousy brown and the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks had died back down.

It was nice to be someone else for a time.

Finally, her year abroad was over and she had to return to England. She was half eager and half reluctant, unsure of her welcome and whether they would re-accept Smaug into village life.

Deciding to fly to France by plane and then onto her mountain on the dragon, she spent the twelve hours scanning every face that turned her way on the flight, searching almost apathetically for those half remembered eyes.

Glancing around, she spotted a young man, no older than twenty five, studying her intensely half way up the cabin.

His eyes, a similar shade to those she remembered, but colder, more icy, speared her where she sat, frozen still as the young man stared. His sandy brown hair was already starting to recede whilst his waist seemed to be making up for his hair line's failings.

_Brother. _

Maintaining eye contact, she inclined her head slightly, gesturing to the empty seat beside her.

_Thank god this is first class._

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, even as he half rose out of his chair, glancing around before shrugging and striding purposefully over to where she sat.

"Hello." She studied her nails as he settled into the chair beside her, his tailored suit wrinkling slightly and the smell of his aftershave almost making her gag.

"Who are you? I have been given instructions by my brother to tell him if I ever meet you. He described you in intricate detail, down to the freckle just above your lip and the peculiar shade of brown your eyes are. I don't usually pay much mind to my brother's ramblings, but on this, you see, he was _most_ insistent."

She took a deep breath.

"I live in a mountain, in Wales. Your, ah, brother? Was it? Well he and a band of thieves... waylaid me a number of years ago, until I fought my way out of them. You might want to take more care over where your brother goes, sir."

He chuckled wryly.

"Miss, I doubt you would have had anything to fear in _that way_ from Sherlock. He's about as knowledgeable as an infant in that perspective."

She frowned slightly, irritated with his blatant disregard for her safety.

"Considering that it was not _him_ I was concerned about, I would say that I had every reason to be afraid for both my virtue and my life. He said that I might be useful and that he was _bored._ His companions certainly had no compunction about running their hands up my skirt. I was twelve years old sir, and have had no mother figure to guide me since I was four years old."

She breathed out a weary breath, frustrated by the conversations. She was revealing more than she ought.

An air hostess came towards them, asking the young man to return to his seat, as the plane was going to land for a fuel stop. She smiled at the woman, glad for the intervention.

"Miss, my name is Mycroft Holmes. Pleasure meeting you."

"Molly."

She stared out of the window as the young man strode off, taking in the information whilst seemingly daydreaming out of the window, the clouds reflecting the light of the rising sun, sending slivers and flashes of golds, reds and pinks across her face.

* * *

><p>Yay! Thanks everyone for reading this! Actual university next chapter, I promise. Also, the arm thing? That was from personal experience. It really tickles when the cast is removed! Well. It did for me. Same with the horrid skin bit. I never want to break my arm again.<p> 


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